


Bliss

by SherlockianMuse



Series: The Matt and Rigby Chronicles [1]
Category: Muse, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fangirls, Musicians, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianMuse/pseuds/SherlockianMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shameless exercise in fan girl wish fulfillment. Guess who Eleanor meets in a bar after a Muse concert?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bliss

Bliss. It was always, always utter bliss. She didn't understand it, and she fancied that maybe she preferred it that way. The mystery of it only added to the experience. What did Muse do to her? She honestly didn't care, as long as they kept on doing it.  
  
Stumbling along, abuzz with post-rockgasm adrenaline, Eleanor plucked at her beloved black and white striped Muse tee, which was looking distinctly the worse for wear after its stay in the mosh pit, and sighed in contentment. She loved this period, straight after the gig but before the come-down set in, body battered and weary, ears ringing but mind absolutely singing. Nothing else had this sort of effect on her. And maybe that was it. Muse made her _feel_ , when generally nothing else did, at least not to such an extreme. She still didn't get _why_ , but she never wanted to break the spell that they'd created.  
  
Groaning out loud at the horrific cheesiness of this last thought, Eleanor came to a halt as she mustered herself to come up with a plan of action. She'd decided not to join her fellow Musers for a piss-up, as she sometimes liked a bit of solitude afterward to fully appreciate what she'd just been witness to. So she'd wandered away from the venue in the general direction of her hotel, figuring the walk would do her cramping limbs some good. She'd only ever expose herself to such a pummelling for Muse. Eleanor just couldn't muster the passion to throw herself into the mosh for any other band, it was so brutal. Flexing her fingers to ease the ache from clinging to the barrier for so long, she thought of food and alcohol vaguely as she started walking again. It was quite a hike, her finances dictating the remoteness of her accommodation, but the air was crisp and reviving, and her memories were terrific company.  
  
She'd been on the move for about an hour, and was fairly sure she knew where she was, when the sudden, desperate need for the toilet hit her. Ah, that's right, Eleanor remembered, I haven't been in about 12 hours. Normal bodily functions were disregarded when faced with being as close to Matt as possible. If you got a spot in front of him, you fucking well stayed there, and as soon as you saw him, you forgot everything else anyway. On occasion, it had been a whole day before her bladder had finally demanded attention.  
  
Back in a more populated area, Eleanor did a quick recce and sussed out a likely looking bar, figuring she'd have a drink while she was there, maybe something to eat. Trotting across the street and through the door, she headed directly towards the sign for the loo, knowing she needed to tidy herself up from the look the bouncer had given her.  
  
Feeling perkier than she had any right to after her visit to the toilet, she stood in front of the mirror in the harshly-lit restrooms and tutted at what she saw. Her longish chestnut hair was even more spastic than usual from dried sweat, and her hazel eyes were wide and dilated, smudged with black around the edges from melted make-up. If she didn't know she always looked like this post-Muse, she'd be a bit alarmed. As it was, she just washed her face and neck, but left her eyes as they were and made only a token attempt to calm her hair, as she quite liked the fact that, with her flushed cheeks, Muse made her look like she'd just had a really world-class shag. Scrabbling around in her squished-looking bag, she extracted some deodorant and applied it, straightened her clothes as best she could and then gathered her stuff to leave. Knowing but not caring that she still looked less than presentable, she exited the room with a last glance in the mirror.  
  
Eleanor wandered up to the bar once she'd regained the gloomy and atmospheric main area and slipped onto the only available barstool, next to a slight man with his back to her. Turning her head to smile vaguely in acknowledgment, she lost her mind instead. Five kinds of fuck, it was Matt. In a bar. That she was also in. Alone. "Hiya." He quirked an eyebrow to devastating affect and tipped his glass in her direction. So casual. As if it was no big deal to stooge about being the frontman of Muse, like he was just a normal bloke down the pub after work. The freakin' nerve! This was a BIG DEAL, and should be treated as such.  
  
After an awkward few moments impersonating a slack-jawed yokel, Eleanor regained control of her mouth and blurted, "Could you excuse me a moment? I'll be right back. For the love of all that is holy, don't go anywhere."  
  
Matt looked on in bemusement as she ran to a corner of the room, faced the wall, stuffed a fist in her mouth and screamed long and hard. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! It had finally happened. And wasn't it twatting typical that she hadn't bothered to tidy herself up more? _Curse me for the lazy bitch I am_ , she lamented histrionically in her head, biting her knuckles. How was she going to handle this? Could she even handle it? From on stage to in person, with no effort on her part. It was almost beyond comprehension. _Make the most of it, Eleanor_ , she yelled at herself. _You don't deserve this privilege, so abuse the crap out it if before God, or whoever's in charge, cops on and takes it back. And do it now. Before he can escape.  
_  
Removing her fist, she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Almost afraid she'd turn around and he'd be gone in a puff of post-gig delusion, she swivelled on her heel and walked nonchalantly back to the bar, keeping her eyes on her Chucks. Eleanor hesitated a moment longer, mildly petrified, and then slowly raised her head. He was still there. He was, perplexingly, actually looking at her without abject terror. And he was definitely rock pixie extraordinaire, Matthew Bellamy. Oh, _hell yeah_! Eleanor couldn't help it, she was delighted, and playing it cool simply wasn't an option, so she unleashed a huge grin, directed straight at him. Unbeknown to her, it was really rather charming, the lone dimple to her left cheek adding a sexy twinkle. All she knew was that his eyes creased in response, his lips curling into that quirky half-smile she was so fond of. Hmmm... Maybe Matt was a fan of the rumpled, just-staggered-out-of-the-mosh-pit look.  
  
"I take it, after that little display," he waved his hands extravagantly in the direction she'd just returned from, "that you know who I am?"  
  
After checking over both shoulders to be absolutely sure this was directed at her, as the idea of Matt Bellamy talking to _her_ was preposterous, she shifted back onto the stool beside him and opened her mouth to see what would come out. "Be pretty pointless to pretend otherwise, wouldn't it? I mean, come on, even if I hadn't spazzed out, the t-shirt's a bit of a give-away." Eleanor remembered her manners and extended a hand politely, amazed at her composure. "Mr. Bellamy, it's a pleasure."  
  
He took it and gave her a calculated perusal over the top, eventually releasing it after a lingering squeeze. Ah, that's why she was so composed. Her body had gone into shock. She hadn't even felt that. Bugger. "The pleasure is mutual. Call me Matt, by the way. From the amount I'm guessing you know about me, it seems a bit foolish to be formal. And your name is..."  
  
"Unimportant at this time. Either that or I can't remember it. Which I'm sure happens to you all the time." She figured her mouth wasn't doing too badly without her brain for assistance, so she left it in charge. "Are you here all alone? Where are the others? Why isn't The Kirk in attendance?"  
  
Matt giggled briefly and Eleanor filed it away. She'd made Matt Bellamy laugh. Result! "'The Kirk'?!" He snorted.  
  
"It's what the Musers call him. Bet he loves it that he's not even in the band and yet everybody knows who he is and thinks he's ace. We even scream when he wanders on stage. And he has his own appreciation group on Facebook," she replied.  
  
"Does he? The jammy bastard. I sometimes wonder if it shouldn't be him paying us, the benefits he reaps from working for Muse. And no, Kirky isn't here. But if I'm not enough for you, I can give Dom a call, get him out here instead," he said facetiously.  
  
Eleanor pretended to consider it. "Tempting. Dom _is_ all the different types of fantastic, but don't trouble yourself. You'll do," and she smiled patronisingly. While she was in awe and gibbering discreetly, it seemed she'd automatically slipped into treating him like any other man she'd meet in a bar as a coping mechanism, with a mild dash of contempt to keep him on his toes. As Matt was no doubt used to fawning adoration, she hoped he'd find it refreshing. As opposed to telling her to sod off. She didn't _see_ any security, but they could be working ninja-style, ready to rid him of any unwanted attention.  
  
"I'm touched that I'm enough for you, I really am." Wow, he just spoke to her _again_.  
  
"Only 'cause you didn't offer to get Chris. That'd be a different story. I have this uncontrollable urge to make him cake and check none of his socks need darning. He's such a sweetheart. Can't say that's a feeling you've ever inspired, Matt." Eleanor wondered if she was maybe being too cheeky, but couldn't seem to stop herself. She'd always dreamed of teasing Matt. For some reason, he seemed to be asking for it.  
  
"And what sort of feeling do _I_ inspire?" He questioned, there was no other way of describing it, _suggestively_. Apparently she wasn't too cheeky, then. But he moved like lightning.  
  
She decided to go for broke. When would a situation such as this EVER arise again? She still couldn't nut out how she'd lucked into this one. With nothing to lose (all dignity long since departed when it came to Muse), Eleanor replied, "I'd call it a general sort of lust-addled delirium, which mutates into a feverish, sex-crazed mania during a concert and lingers at that level for a few days afterward. Stellar work tonight, by the way. Definitely mania-inducing. It was very... writhy. And who doesn't enjoy a bit of writhing?" She ended with a Benny Hill-style lascivious wink. Where had _that_ come from?  
  
Matt blinked at that. Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked at her intently for several long moments, but his expression was shuttered, and she couldn't read what he was thinking. She utilised the momentary respite for a good old perv. He looked awkward perched on the barstool, though she'd observed that he never seemed entirely at ease without an instrument to hand. God, he was so wonderfully _pointy_. She _loved_ pointy. The light was poor, but it cast alluring shadows on his face, emphasising the Cheekbones of Doom (doom to your self-restraint, that is), and shielding his eyes. He was... mesmerising. Moving her gaze about, appreciating the pointiness, she observed that he'd changed after the gig, now clad in white jeans (phwoarrr!), a fitted black tee and his trademark stripey belt.  
  
He placed his glass back on the bar, and she gazed longingly at his lovely fingers before her eyes were drawn back to his face as he slid off the stool and stood in front of her. "That's very... interesting," Matt finally said. "Fascinating, even. Would you care to come with me and we could examine this feeling in greater depth? Somewhere more private? Maybe we could see if you've got any other feelings that need attention." He looked at her with a sort of lazy enquiry, as if the response to this suggestion was both obvious and unavoidable.  
  
Eleanor was flabbergasted. Unless she'd got things very wrong, it appeared as if Matt Bellamy had just asked if she fancied a shag. _Unbe-fucking-lievable_! Sure, she'd just been obliquely offering him one, but in no way did she think he'd be amenable to the idea. She had a healthy opinion of herself, but she'd never thought he'd share it, especially not with her in this state. He must be a lot drunker than he looked. And be randy after all that guitar shagging. It would be churlish of her not to take him up on his generous offer, but she had her pride, so she couldn't make it too easy for him. Plus they'd only been talking for a matter of minutes. Slapper alert!  
  
Then something even more buzz-killing occurred to her.  
  
"Wait a minute, you letch, what about 'She Who Must Not Be Named'?" Eleanor blurted after this super fast serious of thoughts.  
  
"Who the fuck is that? Is this something to do with Harry Potter?" Matt looked mildly peeved at her failure to acquiesce instantly.  
  
"Well, I am secretly gagging for that kid who plays Harry, even though it's probably illegal, but that's beside the point. 'She Who Must Not Be Named' is your girlfriend. It's what we call her when we can't pretend she doesn't exist. Worship you I may do, but I am not a moral-free groupie. Also, for you to try and make the beast with two backs with me when you're attached would be severely disillusioning, what with the high regard I've always held you in."  
  
"Oh. Her. We broke up months ago. I'm actually surprised the fans don't all know that. You seem to know everything else." His face cleared as this obstacle in his path to an orgasm was brushed aside.  
  
Eleanor broke into a gleeful smile. Time to put 'Mission: Mess with Matt' into operation. "I knew it! You used to talk about her all the time and you haven't mentioned her in months. I am so good, it's scary. Oh, this is sweet. If I'm the one who breaks this news, I'll be queen of the messageboard. Screw you, banter wankers!"  
  
Now he just looked appalled. "Christ, if they don't know, don't fucking tell. I'll never get a moment's peace."  
  
Relenting, Eleanor replied, "I was taking the piss, of course I'm not going to tell. I'm not even going to mention I met you. I don't fancy being torn limb from limb by a mob of fangirls bent on jealousy-fueled revenge. And you know we're not allowed to discuss your personal lives on the official board anyway. This is just for me. I will tell my sister, though. She hates Muse, or so she says. Mainly to get a rise out of me, I think. And she thinks you look like Frodo's slightly taller older brother. So she's safe."  
  
"Thank you for your discretion. I think. Look, are you up for it or not? I am, as you're hot. And intriguing. Also clearly unhinged, but I like that in a woman. So, I'm leaving, but are you coming?" He pouted and she went momentarily blind from desire.  
  
"Don't be daft, man. Of course I'm sodding coming. Lead the fuck on." She sprang to her feet and looked at him expectantly, but then suddenly froze, trying to make it look convincing. "Crap, this could be a spectacularly bad idea. If I do you and it sucks, I'll have to kill myself."  
  
"You cheeky bitch, do I look like I'd be a lousy lay? No, I do not. I'll have you know I'm fairly astonishing. All that practice." He sent her a twisted little smirk and continued, "And why would you have to top yourself if it sucked? Which it won't! You must've had less than satisfactory experiences before, and you're still alive, if not still sane."  
  
"Yes, but that was with Mr. X from Who-Gives-One, not Matt Bellamy. Shoddy sex with you would taint your music by association, and I'd never be able to listen to Muse again. If I couldn't listen to Muse, I'd rather be dead. So you can see how much is riding on this," she concluded.  
  
"You are off your rocker, woman. I have no idea why I'm still interested, but I am. Can we go, please?" Matt twitched anxiously and gestured to the door with one freakishly marvellous hand.  
  
Eleanor pretended to eye him speculatively. "That depends. What sort of guarantee can you offer me? I'd choose your music over you any day."  
  
Matt closed his eyes in what appeared to be stupefaction and then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, 'Fucking fan girls' under his breath before opening them and hitting her with the full-on, intense-yet-mysterious Bellamy stare. He didn't say anything, just raked her with his gaze from head to toe, met her eyes again and _smiled_. It was slinky, seductive, self-satisfied. She was floored. Anything. He could have _anything_ he wanted.  
  
"If you can't trust me, who can you trust?'' He finally said huskily. Then he turned and headed for the door, not even looking back to check she was following. Which she was, of course. The arrogant little twat! Casting her eyes skywards in a fervent prayer of thanks, Eleanor followed him with unseemly haste.  
  
Once out on the street he paused and she came up beside him. "Can you accurately recall your name now?" Matt asked. "I believe it's good form to find these thinks out beforehand. Or so Dom tells me. He's always had better manners."  
  
"First of all: I'd trust you like I'd trust a cat trapped in a cage with a particularly slow-witted budgie. Second of all: I can't believe what a tool you are. And thirdly: it's Eleanor. But you can call me 'Master'," she retorted with a glare, entirely faked.  
  
"You're coming, aren't you? I must be doing something right. Eleanor, you say? Classy. Not named after the song, are you?"  
  
"Alas, yes. The parents are Beatlemaniacs. It was either that, Jude, Lucy or Rita, so I think I came out on top. And my middle name is December, to commemorate Lennon's death," she babbled. Not many people got the reference. She was in no way surprised, but very pleased, that he had. He was obviously possessed of spooky powers.  
  
Matt grinned in delight. Eleanor was tempted to check if she was still wearing underwear, as she thought it may have just melted. "Quirky. I think I'll call you Rigby, in that case. It suits you in all your mildly deranged glory," he chirped.  
  
"I'm flattered. I think," she said through an eye roll. "Though where you of all people get off questioning anybody's mental stability, I don't know. I see a straitjacket and ten rolls of rubber wallpaper in your future, Bellamy. If your alien masters don't come for you first."  
  
"I concede your point. Best have as much sex as possible while I have the chance then, eh?" He said with total earnestness. "If you'd care to follow me, Rigby, the hotel isn't far." With that he walked away without waiting again, one arm across his chest clutching the other, as it had gotten a little chilly now it was so late, and he didn't have a coat.  
  
Pausing to admire his arse (tiny, tight, _biteable_ ) and blessing his lack of protective outer garments, by the time she'd shaken herself from her naughty reverie he was already a way ahead of her and she had to hurry to catch up. He glanced casually at her as she did and asked, "So, enjoy the gig?"  
  
"Knicker-wettingly fabulous, as ever. You never disappoint. I do hope this applies to more than your live performance."  
  
"You can depend upon it. I am talented in a number of different fields. Seriously, it was good? Your response is one of the main reasons we do this, after all. If you're not feeling it the way we do, then we need to know." She was surprised at how genuinely concerned he seemed and considered her response carefully before continuing.  
  
"It was spellbinding. It always is. We all agreed. Surely you could feel it? The crowd was ecstatic. There is nothing in my field of reference to compare to the experience of a Muse concert. I was overwhelmed. As I am every time I see you live. There's something I've always wanted to do, actually, besides the obvious, and that is to say thank you. Thank you for giving us all that you do. Thank you for caring so much you make us care. In the weirdly appropriate words of ABBA, thank you for the music. I don't think you'll ever know just how much it means to us. Most of all, thank you for the pleasure. The hours, days, weeks, months, years of pleasure that what you do has given me personally. In a mostly non-dirty way. Being a Muse fan is a fiendish amount of fun, you know. At least for me. Even if you do think I'm a berserker."  
  
Matt looked a bit shocked at this tumult of adulation. "I'm... touched," he said hesitantly. Then he straightened and smiled, but it wasn't smug, it was a smile of satisfaction at a job well done. "I appreciate you telling me that a great deal, and I'm going to share it with Dom and Chris. It's not often we hear anything more articulate than, 'You guys are fucking awesome'. And I don't think you're a berserker. After all, I never shag them," he finished on a cackle before coming to an abrupt halt and grabbing her arm to stop her too.  
  
Eleanor had been too shocked to really take it in when they'd shook hands earlier, so she was overcome at this sudden, immediate contact. She looked into his angular, compelling face and then down at his talented, long-fingered hand wrapped around her arm and swallowed. This couldn't be real, could it? The gods were never this kind. Fuck it. If it wasn't real, she'd like to congratulate her rampant imagination on a job well done and ask it to keep it coming. She got the feeling that they were only just getting to the good part.

 

"We're here," he indicated the hotel behind her with a wave of his hand while the other slid down her forearm to take hers. Holy shit, Matt Bellamy was holding her hand. She'd never wash it again. Though if she applied this principle to other body parts he may very well be touching in the near future, she'd become very unhygienic, very quickly.  
  
"Thank Christ," she said. "I'm ravenous. As there's not much eating on you, you'll have to order me room service. I've had a muesli bar and sweet fuck all else in the last twenty-four hours. As Muse are responsible for my malnourishment, it's the least you can do." She shot him a wink and tugged on his hand. "Aren't we pretending you're in charge? So, lure me upstairs to your den of iniquity already. I spotted a Burger King round the corner, or whatever it is they call it here. I could just go there. It'll be quicker."  
  
He looked disgusted. "Burger King? That's almost a deal breaker. Try and contain your low-brow gastronomic urges for a moment and follow me, witch." He led her by the hand through the door and across the glitzy lobby to the elevators. Eleanor looked around in interest as he pushed the up button. It was certainly the classiest place she'd ever been, but she did not appreciate the snotty, superior look the receptionist was giving her dishevelled gig clothing and scruffy trainers. She waved jauntily as Matt led her through the now open lift doors, then flipped her off just before they closed. Maturity and Eleanor had never been close acquaintances.  
  
"Mmmm... attitude problem," Matt said as he released her hand and crowded her until she backed into the wall of the elevator. "I like it." He wasn't quite touching her, but he may as well have been. He was literally hot, heat radiating off him. And he smelled divine, his scent permeating the enclosed space to the point where she felt mildly drunk on it. _He_ _probably has it specially made to make the brainwashing easier_ , she thought giddily. _D_ _esigned to lower the defences and make you susceptible. Fight it, Eleanor!_  
  
"Did you see the look she was giving me, the smug cow," she justified. "She may work somewhere posh, but she'll be as poorly paid as I am, so she's got piss all business thinking she's better than me. And that uniform was ghastly. I hate gold. I mean, obviously I do look like shit, which makes your interest all the more inexplicable, but it's not like I'm hanging around the front trying to bum some cash off the rich tossers, is it?" He seemed to find this highly amusing, if the suppressed smile was anything to go by. Eleanor flared her nostrils and squinted at him suspiciously. "Something to say, Bellamy?"  
  
"Nothing at all. Though I think you just called me a rich tosser." He ran his fingertips lightly down her cheek and her mouth dropped open involuntarily. "Regardless, I think you look _delectable._ " With that his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before he leaned forward and swiftly licked her neck. "I was right," he breathed as he moved away from her towards the opening doors, leaving her floundering against the wall, weak-kneed and trying not to dribble. Gah!  
  
She was still there when his hand shot out to stop the doors from closing on her and he leaned back in to say, "I thought you said you were hungry, Rigby? There's no food in here. And you can't get room service without a room." He crooked one finger at her in a decidedly condescending beckoning gesture, and the glint in his eye was absolutely inflammatory.  
  
Eleanor straightened up and sauntered towards him, purposely brushing against his arm as she passed into the hallway. She turned and tapped her foot impatiently as she eyed him. He was going to pay for this, something chronic. "Take me to your room and feed me. Now."  
  
"That's all you want? Feeding? Shame." He headed away from her towards the set of double doors at the end of the passage, struggling to remove the keycard from the pocket of his tight-fitting trousers as he did so. She followed, trying to get a grip on the rampaging lust beast that seemed to be taking control of her body. _Make him work for it_ , she chanted to herself.  
  
As Matt paused to swipe open the door, she thought a little teasing was in order, so she walked up behind him until she was aligned with his back and deliberately touched him for the first time, running her hands lightly down his sides before bringing them to rest on his pointy hips. "I'm not the only one who needs feeding," she said sneakily into his ear before brushing her lips against the lobe, "and that's certainly not all I want."  
  
Matt sucked in a breath, but didn't respond. He pushed the door open and stepped to the side, gesturing politely for her to precede him in. She did so, dropping her bag on the floor before turning to smile winningly at him as he closed the door softly and leaned against it. "You're a gentleman. Who knew?"  
  
"Not really. Just wanted to get a good look at your arse. Tasty," he replied deadpan, and she laughed. He was _so_ living up to expectations, which was something of a relief. She didn't want to even contemplate the crashing disillusionment if he'd turned out to be a total cunt. "Come here," he said invitingly.  
  
Against her better judgment, she did so. Stopping a few inches from him, Eleanor took the time to examine him properly in the light. The photos hadn't lied. He was positively glorious. By no means conventionally handsome, he was nevertheless beautiful. All angles and sharp lines. Smooth, white skin over finely chiselled bones. Hair so shiny it made her jealous. Lips designed for the perfect pout. Dazzling eyes of a hypnotic blue, framed by sooty lashes and supreme eyebrows. She was all about the eyebrows. But his neck was the true joy. Long and elegant, it was the greatest neck ever. Undisputed. She was mildly disturbed to realise that she wanted to suck on it like a vampire, though. And while he was admittedly a short arse, he was also gracefully shaped, and everything about him seemed _right_ for who he was. Like, if he'd been any taller it would have ruined things. She'd always thought him godlike on stage, and he wasn't far off being the same face to face. Christ alone knew what he saw in her.  
  
Eleanor came too and discovered she'd unconsciously leaned into his body so her breasts were pressed into his chest and her mouth was tantalisingly close to his. She certainly hadn't meant to do _that_. He appeared to be actually magnetic, not just metaphorically. But there had always been something about him that pulled at something inside her. Why else had she been so obsessed for so long? He called to her, simple as that. And he was just so fucking pretty!  
  
Matt stared into her eyes intently for a few moments and then giggled - one of the most captivating sounds known to womankind. To mankind too, probably. She just knew all the whiny fanboys who were 'all about the music' were secretly gay for Matt. "I thought you were hungry?" He questioned. "Are you going to let this 'rich tosser' buy you some food? Or have you decided there's something else you'd rather feast on?" He leered. _Ooh, malfunction_ , Eleanor squeed to herself. _Please_ _let him be as filthy as I've always imagined him to be!_  
  
She stepped back and gave him a cool look. How she was managing not to lose it completely, she hadn't the faintest. She'd always thought she'd be on the floor, clutching at his legs and begging him to fuck her rigid while sobbing in unfulfilled need by now. Ten points for sterling self-control.  
  
"Order me a cheese burger, bitch." Eleanor eyed him with mock disdain as she spoke. "I'm feeling the need for grease. Best keep my energy levels up, too. Who knows what I'll need to do later, eh?" She trailed off leadingly. Giving him another once-over, she raised her eyebrows. Two could play this game. Spotting a rather sexy chaise lounge in the corner, she sashayed over to it and proceeded to sprawl on it languidly, closing her eyes to the incredulous expression on his face.  
  
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you just call me 'bitch', Rigby?" Matt finally said. He sounded as if he couldn't decide whether to be outraged or not.  
  
"That's right, bitch. Now make with the room service. Who knows? I may be more agreeable when I've eaten. I doubt it, but stranger things have been known to happen. Me ending up in Matt Bellamy's hotel room without posing as a chambermaid being one of them." All this was said without her opening her eyes. Eleanor kept her face impassive with difficulty. This was wickedly good fun. She couldn't remember a time when she'd enjoyed herself as much while not at a Muse concert. Or been as turned on.  
  
There was an aggrieved silence, followed by footsteps and then a phone being picked up. She chanced a glance at Matt to find his eyes fixed on her as he waited for an answer. He looked stern, pouty and pissed off. And he was fooling nobody. He bloody loved the challenge, she just knew it.  
  
Their stare-out was interrupted when he spoke. "Suite 69. Can I get a cheese burger," his face crinkled in distaste, "with chips-"  
  
"Mayonnaise and tomato sauce on the side. But tell them not to bother with the crappy salad garnish," Eleanor interjected. "And whatever you're having yourself," she said sweetly.  
  
Matt relayed this while giving her the evils, which she found engagingly immature, but didn't order anything himself. Maybe the hotel's pasta wasn't up to scratch. Hanging up the phone, he strode straight to the bar on the sideboard and grabbed the red wine standing there. Popping the already opened cork, he sloshed some into a glass and took a large sip, eyeing Eleanor speculatively over the rim. "I keep asking myself why I'm putting up with this," he eventually directed at her. "But I can't come up with an adequate answer."  
  
"You must know on a subconscious level that it'll be worth your while to put up with the trouble," she responded. Then she grinned impishly at him and his lip twitched. "Sure. That must be it." He placed his glass down abruptly and came towards her. Stopping at the edge of the chaise, he leaned over her, placing a hand to either side of her head on the couch's back. He was really quite intimidating for someone so slight, and if she hadn't been gagging for it, she may have been a touch frightened. As it was, she just smiled wider.  
  
Matt looked at her with rapt attention for a long moment. Being the sole focus of this remarkable man felt achingly lovely, and Eleanor's breathing sped up as she watched him in return, waiting patiently for his next move. It came swiftly as he closed the gap between them and took her bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently before releasing it and running the tip of his nose across her cheek and placing a soft kiss below her ear. She simply couldn't help the low groan that escaped as his tongue flicked out to meet her skin before he pulled away slowly. Oh no. She was a goner. The will to resist for the sake of it was fading fast.  
  
"So... fancy a quicky while we wait for your dinner?" Matt purred, ruining the effect somewhat. But why was everything he did so unbearably enticing? If anybody else had said that to her, she'd be laughing her arse off. With him, however...  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Eleanor hissed as she grabbed him around the neck and pulled him to her again, licking his lips and moaning at the taste of him before ravishing his mouth. The slinky little sod was irresistible, but she was going to try. Just as soon as she'd proved to herself that he was just like any other bloke. And kissing was never as good in reality as it was in your imagination... except when it was Matthew Bellamy you were kissing, it appeared. For the love of God, he was scrumptious, and he hadn't been lying about being talented in many fields. Those lips, that tongue. He was going to be the death of her, but what a way to go!  
  
Eleanor whimpered and arched her back, pulling at his shoulders, desperately trying to get closer, but he held firm. She could _feel_ his smile as his mouth drifted away towards her throat, where he sucked and nibbled at her flesh like he'd never tasted anything so wonderful.  
  
"Wanker," she gasped. "You're just trying to distract me from my burger because you're a vegetarian." Pausing as she ran her hands slowly down his back and up under his t-shirt, electrified at the feel of his smooth, warm skin under her touch, Eleanor went on. "Well, your despicable plan isn't going to work," she broke off again to growl as he bit the column of her neck. "The cow's already dead. I may as well eat it."  
  
He chortled lightly against her shoulder as he pushed her top to one side, the vibration washing across her highly-sensitised skin, resulting in a shudder of longing. Rubbing her legs together to try and ease the ache of want he had unleashed, she finally surrendered to a long-held wish and made a grab for his peachy behind.  
  
As her hands made possessive contact Matt let out a low-pitched groan that was instantly vying for the top-spot in the list of the ten sexiest things she'd ever heard. It may have even bypassed when he murmured the word 'suck' during 'Time is Running Out'. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he _was_ a god. His bottom... gah again! She kneaded and stroked in a frenzy of appreciation, thinking she couldn't wait to see it. And bite it. Hard.  
  
The fucker still hadn't touched her, his hands remaining doggedly attached to the back of the chaise, and Eleanor was becoming increasingly frustrated. He hadn't said anything either, but she could sense his aura of smug self-satisfaction at the puddle of helpless, lusty goo he thought he'd reduced her to. Damn it, she was stronger than this!  
  
Fighting for the willpower to tug away from his drugging kisses, she was saved by a knock at the door and a call of, “Room service”. Slowly pulling back, he shot her a vexed, pouty look, lips pink and inviting. Maybe she wasn't hungry after all...  
  
"I'll have to ask you to get that, Rigby. I'm indisposed," Matt said with a frown. Eleanor glanced down as he straightened and stepped back from her, and grinned audaciously in reply. "I can see that." She licked her own lips, savouring him. "But it's your own fault for wearing such tight trousers. Not that I'm complaining. No, strike that, I am, because your trousers actually aren't tight enough. These are fairly respectable, but some of the others are much too loose. Dom's showing you up. He always delivers in the tight pant department, sometimes to the point where I wonder how he manages to sit down. But I'm ever so grateful for it, and I'm not the only one. Say, have _you_ ever noticed what great legs Dom has? And his arms are the best. Tell him to stop wearing long sleeves so we can see them. Also, if he wanted to drum with no shirt on like Taylor Hawkins from the Foo Fighters, we'd be all for it. His back and shoulders are out of sight," Eleanor finished dreamily.  
  
"Shit, woman, if you keep talking about Dom like that I'm going to get a complex. I'm not exactly feeling the love," Matt said moodily. But he was smiling all the same.  
  
Still lolling on the chaise, Eleanor grinned serenely in return. "I'm only just realising my total lack of diplomacy here. Sorry. But see what you do to me. And I never construct dodgy fantasy scenarios in my head about Dom, only you. Well, almost never. Sometimes Dom's there too, but never by himself," she said with conviction.  
  
Matt made a scoffing noise as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet so swiftly that she slammed into his chest. Taking advantage of her disorientation, his arms swiftly encircled her waist, where his hands ran down until they were clutching her arse firmly, tugging her tightly against him until they were flush from shoulder to knee. "You're not one of _them_ , are you?" He eyed her warily, as if fearing her answer. “Because I do love Dom, just not like _that_.”  
  
"I have zero clue as to what you're talking about," Eleanor replied blithely as she ran her own hands up the back of his perfect neck and into his silken hair. Shamelessly grinding against Matt as she tugged at the locks wrapped around her fingers, she let her eyes drop closed, hiding from his piercing gaze as the unreality of the situation assaulted her anew.  
  
How did she get here? More pertinently, how in the bloody hell did she manage to get Matt Bellamy here? By all rights he should have run a mile when the extent of her - let's not kid ourselves - _obsession_ became apparent. But here he was, wrapped around her as she rubbed against his truly admirable erection. _Ha, I fucking **knew** he'd have a big one_ , she thought to herself gleefully before trying to refocus on the matter at hand. _Thank the Almighty he's so utterly bizarre and unpredictable, don't question it as you will **never** understand how you got this feckin' lucky and leave a lasting impression._ No, wait, she must actually be dreaming, as this made no sense at all and-  
  
"Rigby," Matt said quietly into her ear, and her eyes snapped open as her train of thought was curtailed. Which was undoubtedly a good thing. She'd lose it if she let her brain get involved in this. Certain he had her full attention, he continued, "Get the door. They're waiting. Eat your revolting burger, you culinary criminal. Then get in there," he indicated the door to the bedroom, "and do it fast. I'm not a patient man." With that he released her and turned to walk, rather stiffly, from the room, pausing to look over his shoulder before he disappeared from view. "And for Christ's sake, do yourself a favour and stop fucking thinking. It's called feeling. Go with it." And he was gone.  
  
Eleanor stared at the space he had just vacated until there was a second, discreet knock, and she signed for the room service mechanically after finally answering the door. _Right_ , she thought, _you're a fucking wreck, woman. Pull yourself together_. She was contemplating slapping herself in the face to get her point across when a loud noise from behind the closed bedroom door caught her attention. What the...? It sounded like furniture being dragged across the floor. Which was ludicrous, as obviously His Royal Hotness was incapable of moving anything heavier than a guitar. Then again, he _could_ lift an amp when he was in the zone on stage...  
  
Dismissing this pointless line of thought, she opted to eat instead, in the hope that food would return both her strength and her sense, as she had a premonition she'd be needing at least one of them. Devouring the lot, as it would be rude not to, Eleanor felt her strength regaining, but her sense was still nowhere in sight. Her eyes fell on the bar. Perhaps her sense was in that bottle of whiskey there. It was as worthy a place as any to find it, so she grabbed said bottle, ripped the cap off and downed an unhealthy amount straight. Replacing it, she wiped her mouth and coveted the all-over tingling as the alcohol hit her bloodstream.  
  
Figuring sense would be a killjoy and tell her to do a runner anyway, Eleanor decided to move before it did show up. So she stood as straight as possible, fixed a haughty, indifferent expression on her face to try and shield what she was really feeling - i.e. very, _very_ bad and begging for it - and walked in stately fashion towards the closed bedroom door. Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she took a deep breath before turning it slowly. Glory or insanity awaited. Preferably a bit of both.

Eleanor didn't look up until the door was firmly closed behind her. When she did, she didn't see Matt, but she did see an airy room dimly lit by a few lamps and that he had, in fact, been moving furniture. A table that had clearly been under the window had been shifted in front of a large, ornate mirror on the adjacent wall. Eyes widening in disbelief at the presumptuousness and sheer cheek of all that was implied by this, Eleanor was startled when the cocky bastard in question strolled in from the adjoining bathroom and raised an enquiring eyebrow.  
  
"Enjoy your meal?" Matt asked civilly as he came to a stop a couple of feet in front of her. He rested his mouth-watering hands on his hips as he slouched elegantly in bare feet, hair dishevelled and eyes sparkling, looking illegally inviting. Eleanor wasn't sure what she'd done to warrant this baffling honour, dream or reality, but the Force was strong with her tonight, and no mistake.  
  
She deployed her patented sneer, but neither of them were buying it. "Quite," she finally replied. "Been indulging in a spot of interior redesign while you've been waiting?" She indicated the damningly placed table with a casual flick of the wrist.  
  
"What can I say?" Matt shrugged. "I just thought it looked better over there. Don't you agree? Opens up a whole world of possibilities. Plus it really ties the room together," he finished solemnly.  
  
Struggling not to smile, Eleanor took a sudden large step forward, so she was right in Matt's face, and bought her lips to his ear, whispering, "Now that you mention it, I can see the potential created by the simple repositioning of this one table. How very astute of you. Not just a pretty face, then." With that, she delivered a swift, hard slap to his world-class arse with an indecent level of relish.  
  
He let out an involuntary gasp and _something_ flashed in his eyes before his face settled into a scowl. He closed the minuscule gap between their bodies and grabbed her by the shoulders, splaying his bony fingers across her upper back. Eleanor swore it actually burned where he touched her. She was surprised her top didn't catch fire, as he was _smokin'_.  
  
They were of a height, and he stared into her eyes from under half-lowered lids, long lashes casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones. Breathing was instantly a more difficult procedure than usual for Eleanor. She was overwhelmed and oh so close to giving up all pretence and just pleading. He was too close, too seductive. She'd followed his every move for too long and fantasised about him too much. She couldn't take it any more and broke eye contact, and she swore she saw him smirk in triumph as she shifted her gaze over his shoulder.  
  
"So..." Matt eased his grip on her and slid his hands soothingly down her back, bringing them to a halt embracing her hips. He then nuzzled his face into her hair. It was a shockingly tender gesture, but Eleanor felt herself relaxing automatically in response, slumping forward until her weight rested against him. Matt pressed a kiss to her cheek and continued, "Did you give my suggestion some serious consideration?"  
  
"I did. I examined it objectively from all perspectives and reached the following conclusions. Number one: you are arrogant, entitled and infuriating and need to be taught a lesson. Number two: I am more than qualified to teach you and, what's more, have the balls, as it were, where it appears no one else ever has. But... number three: while both these things are true, you are also a sexy, slinky minx of a man who makes me horny beyond belief. Which leads us to number four: the fact that you're _Matthew Bellamy_ , and I'm a _Muser_ , so falling in line with you is sort of ingrained, even if it goes against my nature to concede to anyone." Eleanor finished as if what this torrent meant was painfully obvious and met Matt's eyes again, feeling bold and in control, even if it was an illusion.  
  
He looked a little bemused, a hint of that adorable confused expression so well-known from interviews sliding across his face before a blinding grin settled in place. Flexing his fingers on her hips, he eventually responded, "Would you care to sum up, for clarity's sake?"  
  
Rolling her eyes, Eleanor finally moved her arms, bringing them to rest around his neck, slipping her own fingers into his hair. "For a genius, you're pretty thick, you know that? For the simple-minded in the room, then. I'm in. I'm up for it. I'll stop messing with you for the sake of it. Instinct, feeling only from now on. I won't be thinking, as it takes too much effort. I can't guarantee I won't insult you, though. It's what I do."  
  
"Permission to look smug, sir?" Matt asked smarmily, ghosting his hands slyly up her sides.  
  
"Like you've ever needed it, but permission granted... on the proviso that you do two things for me first." Eleanor waggled two fingers at him to emphasise her point.  
  
One skeptical eyebrow crept towards his hairline. "If you wanted an autograph, you probably should've asked back at the bar. Doesn't seem very appropriate now."  
  
"You're really ruining your mystique here, being such a dingus. I don't want an autograph. I've never understood why you'd want someone's signature just because they're famous. Unless it was on a cheque. Now pay attention or I may decide I'm not in the mood," Eleanor huffed.  
  
Matt pasted a look of patently insincere rapt attention on his face at this, but his hands had their mind on other things, mainly her breasts. She stared down at his beautiful hands on her chest for a long, stunned moment before glancing up in time to catch his pleased look as he felt her nipples harden against his palms. He was spectacularly unsuccessful at looking innocent as Eleanor glared at him.  
  
"That's a cowardly attempt to divert me, Bellamy. Shame on you. And what's more pathetic is that it didn't work," she said, a tad more breathlessly than she would have liked.  
  
Matt moved his hands teasingly down her stomach at this, now trying to look contrite, before abandoning it as a lost cause and going for wicked instead. He slipped one hand under the waistband of her jeans and shifted the other to cup her arse.  
  
Eleanor fought the urge to drool. She thought she may have just had a tiny orgasm from the devastating hand placement/smile combination he had unleashed on her. Feeling lightheaded, she was struggling to recall what it was she wanted of him, besides his sinful body and all the filthy things his debauched mind knew to do with it, when he exacerbated her stupidity by delicately stroking her lower stomach, and she ended up blurting out, "Matt Bellamy has his hand down my pants," with a dopey grin instead.  
  
"He certainly does. Nothing gets past you, Rigby," Matt said, sounding a bit strained. "Can we get naked now? Please?"  
  
With superhuman effort, Eleanor ignored his hands and spoke again. "As I was saying when I was so sleazily interrupted, and before the inevitable nakedness, would you kindly do the following... Bellamy, are you listening to me?"  
  
Matt looked up vaguely from where his hand had abruptly removed itself from the inside of her jeans in order to open them, which was proving a bit of a challenge with just the one, as the other hand had now slid down her backside and between her legs, causing Eleanor to squirm and bite back a whimper.  
  
"Not really, no," he replied honestly. "It's just that I've had a hard-on for the last twenty minutes and it's difficult to concentrate. If I don't get some soon I may be permanently crippled. So tell me what you want quickly. I don't care what it is, I'll do it. As long as your fingers are wrapped around my cock straight afterward." He finally succeeded in undoing her jeans, and hastily deployed both hands to start tugging them off.  
  
Eleanor had forgotten what she wanted to say, and really didn't care. The outstanding mental image Matt's final words had conjured was now the only thing in her head. "Bloody hell," she gasped. "Screw it. Later. Whatever. Ravish me. Now." With that she scrabbled out of her pants, kicked off her shoes, toed off her socks and lunged at him, almost flooring him in her enthusiasm.  
  
Matt staggered backwards but managed to keep them upright. _So he is a lot stronger than he looks_ , Eleanor pondered idly as she bit him on the neck like the vampire she apparently was and began undoing his belt with clumsy fingers, her whole body vibrating with a mixture of whiskey and fevered anticipation.  
  
"Glad to see you getting into the spirit of things, Rigby," Matt cackled as he watched her fingers at work with interest, his own inching under her top. "Love the tee, by the way. Very styley. You a fan of this Muse, then?"  
  
Eleanor glanced up from where she was lowering his zipper and smirked provokingly. "Nah, they're well shit. Got it for free, thought I may as well wear it. Besides, I hear the lead singer's a real looney, thinks the Queen's a lizard. Barmy, eh?" Then her eyes glazed over as she pushed her hand under the waistband of his tight, yellow boxers and gripped his magnificent erection. Big feet, big hands, big nose... have mercy!  
  
Matt let out a little sigh of relief at her touch before flashing his trademark 'I'm up to something - bet you'd like to know what' naughty look and then sticking his tongue down her throat. Snogging her into incoherence, he pulled back and grabbed the hem of her t-shirt. "The guy sounds like a total nutter... are you planning on moving that hand any time soon?' He enquired.  
  
"So sorry, something must have distracted me," Eleanor stuttered. "You know I'm going to have to let go in order to get the top off." But she didn't let go, rather stroked slowly and deliberately, running her thumb over the tip, while her other hand eased his white jeans down.  
  
"You won't if I rip it off," Matt groaned. He was mildly distracted himself and had halted with his fingers twisted in the fabric just below her breasts.  
  
"It's my favourite, so don't you fucking well dare." Eleanor reluctantly removed her hand after a parting squeeze, which had Matt's eyes rolling back in their sockets, and raised her arms above her head. She smiled sadistically. "Take it off. Nicely."  
  
"Bossy madam. Let's make this disrobing quick, then." Matt dashed her top off, threw it behind him, violently discarded his own, dived down, taking his boxers with him, shoved both them and his pants away, and popped back to eye-level.  
  
He did a double-take and his gaze wandered back down to rest between her breasts. He'd moved so fast Eleanor still had her arms raised. Lowering them to rest on his shoulders, she noticed what had gathered his attention while admiring the juxtaposition of his entirely tempting brown nipples against the fragile paleness of his chest, realising it was not her - admittedly rather average (but still very respectable) - cleavage.  
  
"You have a Muse badge on your bra," Matt said in a wondering tone, toying with it while his other hand wrapped around her neck.  
  
"Aye," Eleanor responded slowly, having just cottoned on to the fact that she was in close, personal contact with an entirely naked Matt Bellamy. Ticking this off her list of life goals, feeling both accomplished and terrifyingly aroused, she looked into his face again as she explained. "I like to have something Muse-related about my person at all times. And since I have so many badges, I just leave one on each of my bras. I've never really thought about it, but I suppose that is a bit out there."  
  
Matt smiled at that. "I think I'm probably expected to be a little frightened right now, but I find that oddly sexy. The location is excellent. Still, bra be gone!" And he unclasped it with deft fingers, pulling the straps down until Eleanor eased her arms from his shoulders so he could part it from her completely. Matt tossed it with flourish across the room and then looked at her expectantly. "You're a lot of work, Eleanor, but you certainly keep things interesting. Lovely tits, too. So, about this ravishing you were after..."  
  
At that, Eleanor crushed herself against him, winding her arms around his back. Taking a second to revel in the pressure of his erection against her lower belly, the feel of it indescribable, she pulled Matt in even tighter. Pressing butterfly kisses along his jaw, she grabbed his arse again, simply because she could. Sensory overload. "Fuck, Matt, your arse is _in-freakin'-credible_. I must get a closer look, but I'm finding it difficult to let go for long enough. You do know you're naked, right?"  
  
"Your powers of observation are truly impressive, Rigby," Matt sniggered, lifting his head from where he'd been lightly licking and biting her from ear to shoulder. "You taste nice. All salty. I wonder if the rest of you is as delicious?" He eased himself back from her and lifted a pale hand to her breast before lowering his mouth to the other. "Let's find out, shall we?" And he fastened his lips around one nipple while he pinched the other.  
  
"Ahhh... bloody buggering hell," Eleanor groaned. That felt _good_. She took a firm hold of his hair to keep him in place. "The saltiness is your fault. Do you have any idea how sweaty a Muse gig is?"  
  
Matt looked up at her like she was unforgivably stupid as he moved his mouth to her other breast. "Given that I'm drenched by the end of one, I'd say yes, I do. And do you always talk this much during foreplay?"  
  
Eleanor was about to retort when, with no warning, he bit her nipple sharply, making her squeak indignantly instead, but she couldn't help the delightful shudder that coursed through her at the sensation.  
  
Matt salved it with his hot, wet, skilled tongue in apology, then began raining sucking kisses down her abdomen, lowering himself until he was on his knees at her feet. _Fuck me_ , Eleanor thought. _This is what I imagine when I'm doing myself a favour in the shower. And now it's **real**. Thank you, thank you, thank you!_  
  
Grinning mischievously up at her, Matt eased his fingers under the waistband of her knickers and then stopped, as if waiting for an answer.  
  
Eleanor gaped down at him in disbelief. "I'm normally not much of a talker at all. But speaking seems to keep the incipient fangirl hysteria at bay. And you mess with my head so much I don't know what I'm doing. Besides, I usually listen to Muse at times like these. I have a special 'Minxy Muse Make-out Music' playlist on my iPod."  
  
His grin was now insufferable, the git.  
  
"Really? I'm flattered. Our music being considered a suitable accompaniment to shagging is a massive compliment," Matt said with a great deal of conviction. He stared up at her for a few moments, appearing remarkably at ease for someone so entirely naked, then pressed his face into the softness of her stomach and abruptly whipped her knickers down her legs.  
  
She was undone. At his proximity, his actions, his factual existence on the same planet as her, let alone in the same room, _naked_. She was bewildered, befuddled, but she remembered one thing. “Hey, Bellamy, weren't you claiming to be in danger of permanent sexual incapacity if I didn't attend to your cock? So what are you doing down there where I can't reach it?”  
  
“In a typically capricious change of heart, I've decided I'm enjoying watching you come apart at the seams more then I need to get off. I've passed into the 'exquisite torture' level of hardness now, and combining this with the dirty thrill of causing you to disintegrate means that when I do finally get some satisfaction, it's going to be fucking spectacular. Besides, pain has its benefits.” Matt slapped her harshly on the arse as he finished speaking, and she bucked and let out a tiny scream. He seemed pleased with this response, and started biting keenly down her flank while palming her breasts roughly.  
  
Eleanor tugged on Matt's hair excitedly, shuddering at each sharp contact, and he let out a filthy groan that she loved being the cause of. “Jesus, you are one hot bastard. I've always known you were a perverted little sadist, but how did you figure out I like it a bit rough?” She murmured huskily.  
  
Caressing her skin with his warm breath, he pulled back slightly to admire the evidence of his teeth on her flesh and froze suddenly as his eyes met her left hip. Matt goggled momentarily before reluctantly reaching his fingers out. “What the...? Am I hallucinating, or does it say, 'So confused, when you're lost in the groove' on your hip?” He said in a dumbfounded whisper, his gaze moving repeatedly from her face to the tattoo and back again.  
  
“Oh, I'd sort of forgotten about that. You're not hallucinating. It does say that. And this is stopping you from doing terrible things to me why?” Eleanor smirked giddily down at him, running a fingertip along each of his eyebrows. She then rubbed at the furrow between them, sighing in fulfillment. She'd always wanted to do that.  
  
He was looking at her like she was out of her mind again. “I've voluntarily locked myself in a room with a woman who has something I wrote tattooed, permanently, on her body. Forgive me for being ever so slightly concerned right now.”  
  
Settling a hand against his upturned cheek in a placating gesture, Eleanor tried to explain. “Not disturbed enough to lose the stiffy, I see. But I understand why this could be misconstrued as a cause for concern. It's really not, though. I simply wanted to get a tattoo, and I wanted it to be something that had meaning for me, for my life, so that naturally meant Muse, and I am unhealthily enamoured with 'The Groove', so that's what I ended up with. Plus you can't deny that I chose a fucking epic lyric there. And very apt, as I am frequently in a Muse-induced state of confusion. Like now, for example. But your involvement in the permanent scarring of my skin is purely coincidental and I can assure you that everything but your virtue is perfectly safe when locked in a room with me.” Pausing to breathe, she fixed an imploring expression on her face and slyly asked, “Now what do I have to do to get you to put out?”  
  
Matt made a poor job of hiding his smile at this, trying to continue with the 'rock star cornered by crazy stalker' facade. “But it's just a song, I don't-”  
  
Feeling antsy, Eleanor interrupted before he could start ranting. “Look, Bellamy, you must know how much Musers love 'The Groove'. Surely you've spotted the banners? There's one at every bloody concert. Actually, while you're at my mercy, I should give you a bollocking for not paying attention to them. You could not imagine the mass hysteria if you did. We'd go spare, we'd be so stoked. So listen to me. Play 'The Groove'. Give the people what they want. And right now what these people want,” she indicated herself and her lack of attire, “is your cock. So please get over it and on top of me.”

“Well, that's me told, isn't it?” Matt cackled. “Okay, okay. I shall obey you and your filthy mouth just this once, Rigby. Now, where was I?' He licked her from the navel downwards. “Right about here, methinks,” he pondered, nudging her legs apart.  
  
Eleanor almost collapsed, she was in such an unsteady tizz. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she incanted. “I don't know if what I think you're about to do is entirely advisable. I may just drop dead.”  
  
Matt shot her a look of fiendish satisfaction at this admission. “Superb. I like to make an impression.” And he lunged forward, hoisting one leg over his shoulder and taking a firm hold of her arse to keep her in place, going straight for her aching clit. Eleanor bucked again and cried out as his mouth latched on and sucked ferociously.  
  
He pulled back momentarily to growl, “You're fucking dripping, you dirty bitch,” and then took to her with his tongue again, lapping and nibbling with just the right degree of force to drive her mad.  
  
Eleanor clutched at his hair with frantic fingers, intimidated by the intensity of the sensations he was inciting, trying to both back away and get closer at the same time. “What do you expect, you saucy minx? I get worked up enough just watching you on stage. Do you have any idea what a total mind-fuck this is?” She ended on a prolonged gasp, pulses of insane pleasure coursing out from her groin to every cell in her body.  
  
Steadying her as her supporting knee buckled, Matt clamped his strong fingers on her backside hard enough to bruise. _Fuck yes_ , she thought. _Mark me so it never fades_. He came up for air briefly, but kept his eyes downcast. “Yes, I know. That's half the fun. Fucking with your mind while I fuck with your body. Now, isn't it time you came for me?” And he looked up, fixing her with a sultry blue gaze as she stared down at him in awe, then fastened his God-given mouth hungrily over her again and with one greedy lick sent her flying.  
  
Dazed and sobbing, Eleanor lost all control of her limbs, slumping backwards, and Matt had to move quickly to stop her from falling, removing her leg from his shoulder and jumping lithely to his feet to grab her hands and ease her gently to the floor. He crouched over her prone body and grinned the grin of the terminally smug as he took in her flushed and heaving chest as she struggled to master her breathless panting. “What was it you were saying earlier about me sucking?”  
  
Eyes heavy lidded, Eleanor desperately tried to regroup. Never. It had _never_ felt like that before. He _was_ a friggin' alien! No human male was capable of provoking such a reaction. She was still fizzing with aftershocks, and her spine arched involuntarily as the last, lingering dart of her orgasm struck. Her body gradually relaxed, and her racing heart slowed, but her mind remained chaotic, the only thought discernible in the tumult a resounding call of, ‘MORE!’  
  
She caught Matt by surprise as her eyes sprung open. Giving him a dazzling smile, Eleanor drawled, “I'll show you _sucking_ , Bellamy,” and shoved him hard against the chest. He toppled back on his arse, rock-solid, inviting cock proudly on display, and he looked up at her in bemusement as she got hesitantly to her feet and towered over him.  
  
“I'd fucking love you to, Rigby, you horny little wench, you,” Matt replied in a low, seductive tone. “But I think you'll find I'm down here.”  
  
“I want you on your feet. I want to look,” Eleanor said carefully, and she extended a trembling hand in offer, pulling him upright when he accepted it. She immediately released him and backed away from where he was standing, wanting to take in everything, to memorise all the tiny details. This night was going to be the fuel for her personal fire for the rest of her life.  
  
Feasting her eyes on every perfectly imperfect inch of his flesh as he waited impassively, one hand resting on his chest, the other hanging at his side, Eleanor smiled to herself. That's what she was talking about! She shared the smile with him and he scowled indignantly in return. Giggling, she circled around behind him, pleased that he didn't try and turn.  
  
And there it was. His awesome, _awesome_ backside. Eleanor sighed in heartfelt appreciation, and Matt twitched at the sound, but didn't move his head. _A thing of beauty is a joy forever,_ she thought to herself. _It would be wrong of me to sully such taut, pale, smoothly rounded gorgeousness. But then again_... **_mine, mine, mine_** _!_  
  
She rested her hands on his shoulders, and he tensed but remained silent, eyes fixed straight ahead. Eleanor placed a single, open-mouthed kiss on the nape of his neck and stroked both hands delicately down his sweetly-defined back until she was the one on her knees at his feet. Then she twinned both arms around his waist and bit him sharply on the left buttock.  
  
Matt flinched in her grasp and swore incoherently. Contorting back to gape at her in shock, the expression on his face was priceless as he demanded, “Did you seriously just bite me on the arse?!”  
  
Eleanor licked the fine set of red teeth marks she'd left and nuzzled her face into the small of his back before responding. “Hell yes. Always, always wanted to do that. Find it difficult to contain myself from leaping the barrier when you bend over on stage. Sorry if I was a bit too enthusiastic.” She loosened her hold on him and leaned back. “Make it up to you if you turn around.”  
  
As the last word left her mouth he rotated on the spot, and Eleanor laughingly blurted, “Christ, you're going to take an eye out with that thing,” before pushing forward, fisting her hand around the base and taking his erection as deep in her throat as she could. Matt groaned deliciously and twisted his hands in her hair, guiding her movements in a thrillingly authoritarian manner, and she sucked and licked relentlessly in response, groping his arse and thighs with harsh fingers.  
  
Lashes fluttering over perfect cheekbones, inviting pink lips parted and glistening, Matt was a sight to behold as Eleanor glanced up at his face. _Oh my God, I just saw a genuine Bellamy sex face_ , she crowed to herself, and the very idea of it made her moan and redouble her assault on his delightful cock. He tasted and felt so very, _very_ good.  
  
A brutal tug to her hair made her look up again. Matt's eyes were dark and wanting as he gazed at her, cheeks becomingly rosy, breath hitching on every other intake. He went to speak and faltered as Eleanor pulled back slightly to run the tip of her tongue along the slit at the head of his shaft.  
  
About to take him in again, she was halted when he finally found his voice and rasped, “Fucking deadly, but you've got to stop. Too close. Want to be buried inside you with your mouth free to scream when I do. Be an accommodating lass and get yourself face-down on that table for me, arse in the air.” And Matt released himself from her lips with a kinky-sounding pop.  
  
Achy with need again, eager for him to sake her seemingly unquenchable thirst for him, she heeded his request with alacrity. Stumbling to her feet, she was turning away when he seized her around the neck and bought her mouth to his in a hot, wet kiss that left her reeling. The mingling of their tastes as his tongue tangled with hers was unbelievably erotic.  
  
Matt pushed her away with a hoarse groan. Cupping her cheek, he smiled goofily and whispered, “You were right. This is _definitely_ worth the trouble.” His look morphed to commanding. “Now, assume the position, Rigby.”  
  
“Shit,” Eleanor muttered as she automatically did as she was told, moving robotically to the other end of the room where the table waited. In view of the mirror now, she saw herself for the first time since leaving the toilets at the bar. If Muse left her looking well-shagged, then Muse's frontman left her looking debauched, whorish and thoroughly fucked. Oh. Bring. It. _On_.  
  
Grinning at herself, Eleanor heard rustling and then footsteps, so hastily bent her body at a right angle, resting her chest against the cool wooden surface, twitching as her nipples contracted further, and latched her fingers around the opposite edge. Head rotated to the side, she caught a glimpse of Matt approaching, so arched her back to raise her arse and wantonly opened her legs. She'd loved messing with him, but this... dear Lord!  
  
“You take instruction surprisingly well,” he murmured approvingly. “And look fucking lush all laid out waiting for me to shag you into oblivion. I must say, I've had a very good day today,” he finished conversationally, slapping her lightly on the buttocks.  
  
“Would you bloody well get on with it,” Eleanor huffed over her shoulder. “How long have you had that hard-on for now? I'm impressed you haven't fainted from lack of blood to the brain.” She pushed back until she felt the tip of his condom-clad cock brush against her and sighed as she said, “Don't make me beg.”  
  
Long fingers fit around her hips and warm breath ghosted across her skin. “As much as I'd love to hear you beg, I _am_ going to die if I don't have an orgasm soon, so...” He trailed off suggestively.  
  
The air was charged, expectant. Eleanor braced herself firmly against the table and waited. The silence stretched. And then shattered as Matt plunged forward and in one fluid movement impaled her with this throbbing erection, forcing a smothered scream from her throat and a agonised gasp of relief from his.  
  
“Thank fuck for that,” he said shakily. Pulling back to the point of losing contact, he pushed in again, deep and strong, and Eleanor let out a rapturous cry, eyes screwed shut in an attempt to trap the feel of him inside her, to keep it forever.  
  
Matt repeated the deep penetration again and again, one hand pulling Eleanor's hips back as he shoved forward, the other running up her sweat-sheened back to wrap itself in her hair. “Good. So good,” he babbled. “You're so tight, Rigby. So fucking hot and juicy.”  
  
“Ugh, Matt... oh, cunting hell. What are you doing to me?” Eleanor sobbed, flexing her backside higher and her legs wider, dying for it. “Fuck me harder. Split me in two.”  
  
Moaning, he did as he was told, tugging at her to raise her head as he did so. “Open your eyes, Eleanor,” he ordered. “Look in the mirror. See me fucking you rigid. It's glorious. I want to see your face, watch you fall to pieces.” Matt yanked at her hair as the hand on her hip slid around her front and down to her swollen clit, which he fingered roughly as his cock reached new depths within her.  
  
Pleasure and pain mixed in a heady cocktail for Eleanor, now wriggling and sobbing continuously, and it took a huge effort of will to open her eyes. But she did, and was overwhelmed by the sight that greeted her in the mirror.  
  
Bypassing her own seemingly tortured expression, she took in Matt behind her and felt like weeping, he was so utterly, bewitchingly beautiful. He _glowed_ as the low light reflected off his perspiration-bathed skin, his slight, sinewy muscles tensing with every thrust, his hair soaked and stuck to his temples. But his face, _his face_. Devastating.  
  
Their gazes collided in the reflection, and the effect of those fiery blue eyes had Eleanor releasing a long, keening moan, spine curving obscenely as she pushed back on her braced hands as hard as she could.  
  
“Sweet Jesus,” Matt exclaimed. He appeared _possessed_. Now that she'd looked, she was incapable of breaking visual contact, and he knew he had her trapped. He lifted the hand from between her splayed thighs to his mouth and licked the juices that coated it with a look of intense satisfaction. _Oh God, oh God_ , Eleanor chanted internally as she watched him sucking on his own fingers. _He's so fucking sexy, I can't stand it_.  
  
Her scalp prickled painfully as he pulled her head back further, stretching himself over her body until his chest was fused to her back and his face was next to hers, eyes still locked in the mirror. Matt grinned predatorily and bit her harshly where shoulder met neck. Eleanor bucked again, scraping her nipples against the tabletop, and whimpered appreciatively, unable to speak.  
  
“That's right, Rigby,” he breathed hornily in her ear as he kept up a steady rhythm in and out of her. “You fucking love it. You'll take everything I give you and still ask for more, won't you?” He graced her straining neck with a disarmingly soft kiss, then fastened hot, wet lips around her earlobe. “Won't you?” Matt asked again, resting his free hand over hers where it clung frantically to the table edge, covering her fingers protectively with his own.  
  
Eleanor strove for the breath and the brain capacity to answer him, ensnared by his azure gaze as she was held willing captive by his surprising strength. “Matt... God, Matt,” she stuttered as he rode her closer and closer to the edge, and she knew she had so much further to fall this time around. “Too much, it's... too fucking much. Hurts so good. Can't take it. But never, _ever_ stop.” And she sobbed anew as he rolled his hips at a different angle, the head of his cock hitting that mythical spot. She so wanted to close her eyes, but she just _couldn't_.  
  
“It's okay, Eleanor,” Matt soothed in a halting voice, and she could tell from the way his brow furrowed and his body bowed over hers that he was close too. “Just ask. You can have anything at all if only you'd ask.”  
  
She felt tears leaking down her face and her eyes were wide and staring, but she could no longer see clearly. Knowing she would die without completion, Eleanor took his suggestion and brokenly whispered, “Finish it, Matt.” Taking a huge, hitching breath, she begged, “ _Please_.”  
  
And she felt cold and bereft suddenly as his reassuring weight was removed, Matt raising himself until he was upright behind her once more, releasing her hair to move both hands back to her hips.  
  
Her head hit the table with a dull thump, her neck unequal to supporting it without him, and she welcomed the jolt it gave her senses, as her vision unclouded and she could see Matt again out of the corner of her eye. Oh, how she wanted to see him.  
  
Rearing back, his own eyes finally fell closed as he pushed forward for the last time, pulling her arse so high her feet left the floor. And he penetrated so hard, and so, so deep, ripping a high-pitched scream from Eleanor as her body was shunted forward from the impact.  
  
Matt swiftly dived a hand back to her clit and with a flick of his thumb and the choked imprecation to, “Fucking well let go, Rigby,” she did.  
  
Eleanor felt herself engulfed in a great, white wave of stinging ecstasy that had no beginning and no end, and she embraced it with open arms. It went on and on, racking her frame, and she writhed and flailed uncontrollably as she lost herself in it. Shrieking and sobbing, she could tell she was also speaking, but she couldn't take in what she was saying, overtaken by the repeated, triumphant, ‘ _Yes, yes, yes!’_ in her head.  
  
Yelling out as the contraction of her walls around his cock extracted his own, long-awaited 'little death', Matt followed her over with a final jerk of his hips, and she blacked out from the feel of his release inside her, simply too much sensation on top of her own end.  
  
When she came to, it was to find Matt collapsed over her, panting like a pervert as he struggled to breathe. “Well, fuck me, Rigby,” he laughed in her ear as he hooked his arms under hers and pulled them both back to fall in a muddled heap of limbs on the carpet. “That was rather good, wasn't it?”  
  
Unable to muster the energy or co-ordination to turn and look at him, Eleanor bobbed her head and, in a tiny voice, replied, “Understatement of the sodding century, Bellamy.”  
  
They lapsed into companionable silence as they lay slumped together on the floor, slowly gathering their wits, and when Eleanor finally managed to lift herself into a sitting position and glance at Matt, it was to find him curled on his side, with half-closed eyes and a contented expression.  
  
“It's late. Early. Whatever. I should go,” she said reluctantly.  
  
He looked perplexed as his eyes opened fully to study her. “Go? Go where?”  
  
“Um, away from here before you go all 'rock star with disposable groupie' and kick me out. My ego couldn't take it after I folded like a cheap deck chair for you just now,” Eleanor answered.  
  
Matt tutted in exasperation and eased himself upright. “If I could be bothered, I'd be steamingly offended right now. I wasn't planning on doing anything of the sort. I need sleep, you need sleep. And look, how convenient, there's a bed. Doesn't this all work out nicely?” He said snarkily.  
  
“God, sorry. I didn't mean it, I'm just a little screwed up right now.” Eleanor said remorsefully. “If you're not worried about me turning all female praying mantis in the night - you know, they eat their mate after sex - then I would be honoured to kip with you.” She got shakily to her feet and presented a hand to him.  
  
Still pouting at the slight, Matt took it reluctantly and stood up, casually binning the condom as he did so. “You're a right rude bitch, aren't you?” He remarked.  
  
Smiling sleepily, she nodded. “I really am. Glad you're only figuring this out now, after I got some.”  
  
Turning to lead her to the bed, he sniggered quietly. “Quite. Everybody wins, it seems.” Matt let go of her hand to pull back the covers, slipping under them and groaning as his aching muscles relaxed into the softness of the mattress. “I'm fucking knackered. Can't hack the pace like I used to.” He saw Eleanor hovering by the edge of the bed and arched an eyebrow. “Are you getting in?”  
  
Eleanor didn't respond. She'd zoned out as the idea of sharing a bed with Matt Bellamy hit her properly. It somehow seemed way more intimate than having Earth-shattering sex with him. Never in her wildest fangirl dreams had she even contemplated this. And she was worried by how very easy it would be to fall hopelessly in love with the reality of him - she'd been in love with the idea of him for years - when in a few hours she'd only ever see him again in her role as a paying punter. _Sleeping_ with him could make the whole aftermath even more of a nightmare for her.  
  
She tuned back in as Matt snorted knowingly. “You're bloody well doing it again, aren't you? _Thinking_. Stop that this instant and get your well-shagged arse in this bed. I've to be up in a few hours, and I won't have the strength to violate my guitar tonight if I don't go to sleep right now.” He rolled his eyes as she still didn't move. “Please?”  
  
Eleanor's face cleared at that. After all, what harm could it do? And she _was_ very tired. “Can't have you disappointing the fans, can we?” She giggled as she climbed in next to him and pulled the covers up. “You know how we love it when you give the guitar a good seeing to.”  
  
“Exactly,” Matt replied, rolling on to his side to face her. He looked exhausted and adorable (the way one man could be both indecently sexy and innocently cute at the same time had always baffled her), and something stabbed at her heart at the sight of him, so she turned away to switch off the light before she became overwhelmed by it. Twisting back over in the darkness, she heard him sigh as he settled a comforting hand on her waist. “Sleep well, lusty wench,” he said groggily.  
  
“I will. It appears as if some randy bastard has sucked the life right out of me,” Eleanor teased, which earned her a faint noise of appreciation. And then there was nothing but his warm presence next to her and the sound of his quiet breathing.  
  
“Beautiful Bellamy,” she whispered. Placing her own hand on his hip, Eleanor nestled her head against the pillow and drifted into sleep. Her last thought was that if this wasn't bliss, she didn't know what was.


End file.
